Prompt: Use this phrase somehow, taken at random from the third chapter of STUD: "...and I am no chicken." :)

A/N: I contemplated turning Holmes into a chicken, just so someone could say this line to him... But I would never have been able to make it work and anyway, Pompey's already turned him into various animals in "More Things that Never Happened to Sherlock Holmes," so I thought I'd allow him to retain his shape for the time being. This was supposed to be shorter, and have more to do with the given line, but it decided to grow into something huge and weird. It could stand on its own with no mention of chickens whatsoever now, but it does technically answer the prompt :) I was too lazy to do any sort of research for this, so if you see any glaring mistakes let me know so I can change it (although again I can't promise that my method of dealing with my mistakes will not involve aliens).
Again, many many thanks for all your reviews! I really appreciate them! #passes cookies to reviewers#

Late one morning in early spring my friend Sherlock Holmes and I sat in our Baker Street quarters arguing good-naturedly about Poe, when I chanced to glance out the window and saw a well dressed young man walking along the street, glancing up at the house numbers. His expression spoke of some private worry, and he toyed with the fingers of his gloves nervously as he walked. "We may have a client in a moment, Holmes," I remarked, pointing the fellow out to him.

"I believe you are correct, Watson," said he, joining me at the window. "Ah yes, he's found us! Well, this is most satisfactory. Perhaps the day has something worthwhile in store."

We hastily tided up the sitting room, which was somewhat disheveled after an enthusiastic search for a file of Holmes' the day before. We succeeded in unveiling the floor, at least, when Mrs. Hudson showed the man from the street into our rooms. He introduced himself to us as Robert Gadling, and we bade him take a seat.

"Now," said Holmes, seating himself in his customary armchair, "tell us what is troubling you. I should not think that a successful newspaper editor with a devoted fiancee to boot should have much to worry about."

The man stared. "How on earth did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he gasped.

"You are accustomed to doing a good deal of writing--your shirt cuff proclaims as much. And, of course, you use reading glasses--the indentations on the bridge of your nose alerted me to that. However, you do not need them for general purposes. Not to mention the slight smearing of newsprint along your fingers--it was not overly difficult. As to your young lady, that token in your pocket was not made for you." He gestured to the ladies handkerchief that was sticking out of the man's coat. Mr. Gadling pushed it back down somewhat self-consciously. "Upon your watch chain you have an engraved disc with the initials RG and BP. You do not wear a wedding band, but all the indications point to a long-standing relationship with a woman. A fiancee seemed the most likely."

Mr. Gadling laughed, some of his nervousness easing. "It's very true, Mr. Holmes. I am to be married, to Beatrice Palmer, in two weeks." His gaze turned downwards. "It is partially about Beatrice that I am worried."

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell us, sir, exactly what it is about her is troubling you?"

"Well, sir--for starters, there's her brother-in-law."

"What about her brother-in-law?"

Mr. Gadling fidgeted in his chair. "I do not like to speak ill of those who are not here to defend themselves, Mr. Holmes, but Jed Giles is a despicable person. He is boorish and rude, and has, I have reason to believe, abused his wife in the past. Beatrice's sister Rose is not an outspoken young lady, and I do not believe she would say anything against her husband, but I do not believe she is happy in her marriage. Jed is very controlling and... he does not like Beatrice." His face flushed very slightly at this. "You may think it is but a fancy of mine, Mr. Holmes, but I have seen him look at her with a stare so venomous that there is no doubt in my mind as to his feelings towards her. I have every intention of taking her away from that place as soon as I can--her sister and her husband are still living with their father, you see, on that estate. But what is more troubling to me, the reason I came to see you, is an incident which occurred a couple days ago.

"I was staying at my fiancee'sestate--I live in the town nearby--and we had retired for the night. For some reason, I found it impossible to sleep that night, and had the idea of fetching a book from the library. I took a candle and made my way along the hall when I chanced to see a glimmering of light coming from under the door to the staircase that lead to the attic. I thought it odd, for the attic is never in use--in fact, the staircase is most unsafe. It has never been repaired, for the family has had no use for it in the past. I opened the door and indeed, the staircase was quite unusable--half the steps were missing entirely. But the light shone from under the door at the top of the stairs all the same. I'd half a mind to fetch Mr. Palmer and ask him what the devil was going on. Just then I heard the most terrible, frightening sound; a blood-curdling, inhuman screech. It was more horrifying than anything I have ever heard, and I am no chicken, but I was absolutely petrified. I practically fled to Mr. Palmer's rooms and roused him, begging him to come with me--apparently he had heard nothing--but when we came to the door again there was no noise, and there was no light from under the attic door. My future father-in-law thought it likely that I had had some sort of nightmare, and persuaded me to think no more of it--but I am sure of what I heard, Mr. Holmes, and what I saw! No one else seemed to be disturbed by it. I have said nothing to Beatrice, for I don't want to give her any cause for worry. But it has been weighing on my mind, sir, and I shall not be content until I have learned the secret behind these matters."

My friend's eyes were gleaming; I could sense that he was much intrigued by this mystery. "Tell me, Mr. Gadling--what do you know of the financial circumstances in which your fiancee and her sister find themselves?"

"They are dependant on their father, for the moment, but I do know that their mother left them each a considerable sum of money--to be divided between them at a certian time. I'm afraid I do not know much about their financial situation--but it has never mattered to me, Mr. Holmes, for I am more than capable of providing for myself and my future wife."

"No doubt, no doubt," said Holmes with a smile. "The girl is a lucky one to have such a capable fiance. I do believe, Mr. Gadling, that we can be of some use to you in this matter. Is there a time at which we could call upon the estate when the unpleasant Mr. Giles will not be in the way?"

"Why, yes... if you come early tomorrow, both he and his wife will be away, as will Mr. Palmer. I'll meet you at the train station."

"Very good, then," Holmes said, turning away from our visitor and selecting his favorite pipe from the pipe-rack. "We shall see you tomorrow morning." I showed Mr. Giles to the door and bid him good day, then turned to Holmes, who still had his back to me. I knew better than to interrupt him, so I sat in silence while he pondered the problem, pulling his thoughts out one by one and holding them to the light, each one visible to me only as a wisp of smoke from his lips. Eventually his eyes focused again, and his mind returned to the realm of reality. "Well, Watson, it seems a strange incident," he said, meeting my gaze for the first time in a half hour. "What do you make of it?"

"I am completely at a loss, Holmes. I can see no explanation for the strange event, but to me it stinks of treachery."

"Treachery indeed, Watson. I fear these are rather deep waters. Yet I believe that greed is the root of the problem, as it is with so many incidents."

"The will, you mean." He nodded. "You think someone is trying to get at the inheritance?"

"I do. Do the circumstances remind you of anything, Watson?"

I gave the matter some thought. "It's rather similar to the matter of the speckled band, isn't it?"

"That was my thought also. Doctor Roylott was so anxious not to be deprived of his money that he was willing to kill both his stepdaughters in order to keep it. The parallel is not exact, of course, but it is similar, and I have noticed that human nature tends to run in similar veins. Well, we shall see. In the meantime, we have for once allowed ourselves more than an hour for packing, so I suggest we begin on that in anticipation of our journey. We shall stay at a local inn, I think, nearby the estate. Oh and Watson, if you would be so good as to bring your revolver, I would be much obliged. It does not hurt to take precautions."

We arrived at the station at seven the next morning and were greeted by Mr. Gadling. As we drove down to the estate I was struck by the pleasant atmosphere exuded by the countryside. It was difficult to imagine secretive and devilish deeds being committed in such a lovely place. Holmes had, of course, remarked before that the country was a more dangerous place for crime than the city, but I was still inclined to view the scenery with appreciation, and could not share his morbid views on the matter.

The house was large and quite luxuriant, with a magnificent spread of trees along the wall. Mr. Gadling lead us inside, and the interior was just as magnificent as the grounds. It seemed that the occupants of the house were less concerned with appearances than was usual in the upper class, however, for there was a vast spread of books and papers across three tables in one room, which Mr. Gadling told us was the library. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the floor in Baker Street, I noticed with some amusement. Our business, however, lay on the second floor, and we made our way up a large staircase to the landing. Mr. Gadling lead us to a door on the far end of the hall, pointing out the one next to it as Mr. Giles' room, and the one next to that as his own. He swung open the door. What he had said was entirely true--the stairs were unusable, and though Holmes did make an attempt to reach the door on the landing above it proved to be quite impossible, as the staircase was long, and more than half of it was broken away.

"Why was this not repaired,?" I asked. "Surely the Palmers have the means."

"The means, but not the motive," laughed Mr. Gadling. "Mr. Palmer is a practical man. He knows that there is nothing in the attic, and that no one should have any cause to go up there, so he saw no sense in having the staircase repaired. However, it seems someone has seen fit to go up there anyway."

"Quite so," said Holmes, getting to his feet and straightening his jacket after another spirited attempt to pass the impassable staircase. "However, they did not come this way. Would it be possible for us to quickly inspect Mr. Giles' room?"

"Certainly." Mr. Gadling closed the door to the attic staircase and let us into the door next to it. The room was full of foreign artifacts, mostly Asian from what I could see. I recognized several of Indian make, and at least one Chineese sculpture.

"Yes, Mr. Giles is a well-traveled man," said Mr. Gadling, noting my observation. "He has been to most of Asia--China, India, even as far as Japan. What you see are tokens of his travels."

Holmes had glanced over the various artifacts, then proceeded to examine one wall minutely, running a finger along the corner where the floor met the wall, then stretching as far up as he could to the ceiling and probing with his fingers, his grey eyes darting every which way. Once he had made quite a thorough examination of the wall he went over to the window and threw it open, leaning out as far as he could. He ducked back in and motioned me forward. "Lend me your arm, Watson," he said, gripping my hand tightly. "I have no wish to topple from this height." I held on to him as he leaned all the way out the window, looking all along the side of the house and up at the attic windows. A moment later he gave a small "ha!" of satisfaction and pulled himself back in. "Now, Mr. Gadling, would you mind showing us your future wife's room?" he asked.

Mr. Gadling looked surprised, but he lead us along to the other side of the hallway, showing us into the young lady's room. Holmes stepped in, glanced around for a minute, then left, apparently satisfied. "We shall not take up any more of your time, Mr. Gadling," he said, heading back towards the main staircase. "We shall be at your local inn if you need us. Until then, I advise you to keep a watchful eye on this Mr. Giles. You were quite right to be wary of him."

A/N: Part II starts here! #waves flag#

We left the house, I no clearer on events than when I had entered, but Holmes had apparently seen something I had not, as far as could be judged by his good mood. Instead of leaving the grounds directly he led me around to the back of the house, looking up at the attic window for a while. He did not enlighten me as to his thoughts, but it seemed clear to me that he had unraveled at least part of this affair. Finally he turned away. As we were leaving the estate Holmes paused by one of the trees. "Well, that is peculiar," said he. "There is freshly turned earth here." And indeed, the soil he was prodding with his stick had recently been dug up.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"One can only speculate at this time, I'm afraid," was his answer. "However, I believe we shall have a reason in time, Watson. Let us now retire to the nearest public house. It is possible that someone there knows something of this Palmer family."

We found ourselves in a friendly tavern in the nearby town. Holmes was in a cheerful frame of mind, it seemed, and we chatted for some time with the talkative barman about the town before my friend steered the topic of conversation towards the Palmer daughters.

"Likable enough, they are," the man told us in response to our innocently curious questioning. "The old man's a nice fellow, and his daughters. Twins, they are. Beatrice Palmer is getting married soon, we hear. To young Robert Gadling."

"They're twins?" said Holmes.

"They'll be turning twenty-one in about a week, I think," said the man. "I hear from their housemaid that that's when they'll be coming into some money, too--left to them by their mother, for them to split when they reached their twenty first year. It was near their place that that business happened, you know."

"Business?"

"Some low-life wanderer was found dead, sprawled across a road in the dead of night. We figure he must've taken mightily ill all of a sudden, for he'd seemed to be in the picture of health. Couldn't find any reason why he'd be dead. Seems the life was just plucked out of him."

"Really," said Holmes, catching my eye. "Oh dear, is that the time--we must be on our way, Watson."

"The plot thickens," I said, once we were outside.

"It does indeed, Watson! We should verify our talkative barkeep's story about the will, but I'm afraid I do not doubt it's validity. Back to Mr. Gadling, then!"

We had not reached the house, however, when Mr. Gadling met us from the other direction. He looked rather pale, and his brow was furrowed. "Whatever is the matter?" I asked.

"I--it's nothing, really--well, it's not nothing--you see, Beatrice has taken ill. She's resting up at the house now."

"Ill?" said Holmes sharply. "What sort of illness?"

"Upon returning to the house, she says she just felt very dizzy, and had to lie down," said Mr. Gadling. "She's been asleep for a couple hours, and is still very drowsy, but she says she'll be fine. Her sister is tending to her now, and--well, I suppose it's really nothing to worry about. This whole matter has had me rather on edge, I'm afraid."

"May we speak with her, Mr. Gadling?" asked Holmes. "I believe she could be of some help to us. And, of course, it could not hurt to have a doctor examine her," he added, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Of course, I'll bring you down--I wonder, though, Mr. Holmes, if we could keep the real reason for your presence here between ourselves? I do not want Mr. Palmer or anyone to think that I'm, well, making too much of a trifle."

"You may rely on us, sir," said Holmes, and we proceeded back to the house.

Miss Beatrice Palmer was lying in her room, looking rather pale and rather drowsy, but she was quite alert enough to sit up slightly as we entered and greet us. Mr. Gadling hastened to her side and told her to lie back down. He made introductions, and I sat on the lady's other side and examined her briefly.

"Miss Palmer, I have heard that the terms of your mother's will are to be seen through quite soon," said Holmes.

"Yes, when my sister and I turn twenty-one," was her reply.

"Hm. And this inheritance is to be divided between the two of you?"

"It is."

"Miss Palmer, have you any idea what brought about this sudden attack of dizziness?"

"I really could not say, Mr. Holmes. I suppose I must have just been tired."

"Did you eat anything out of the ordinairy?" I asked her, feeling her pulse. It was a bit weaker than seemed usual, but I doubted that it would last.

"Nothing, Doctor. I ate with the family at breakfast, and an apple out of that fruit bowl--" here she gestured to a basket of fruit on her bedside table, with a small card apparently offering congratulations next to it--"but other than that I really haven't eaten at all."

At that moment the door opened and another girl walked in. She was similar in appearance to Beatrice Palmer, but thinner, with a strange hardness in her eyes. "Ah, Rose," said Mr. Gadling, "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Doctor Watson. I've asked the Doctor to step in and just have a look at Beatrice."

She said nothing, but turned her hard gaze onto Mr. Gadling and her sister. I could not read her expression, but something in her eyes troubled me.

"Well, I suppose we should not take up any more of your time," said Holmes. "Are you finished, Watson?"

"All I can advise is bed rest for the remainder of the day," I told Mr. Gadling and his fiancee. "I don't doubt that you'll be perfectly all right, given time."

"Well, Watson, these waters are deeper than I'd expected," remarked Holmes as we left the estate. "What did you find wrong with the girl?"

"Her pulse was weaker than it should have been," I answered, "and she was chilled, it seemed. But I don't think she's in any real danger now."

"Hmm. Not from illness, at any rate," said Holmes thoughtfully.

"You think someone will try to kill her?" I asked.

"Perhaps, Watson. I hope not, but I cannot deny my instincts."

We returned to the tavern which we had only just left, and sat together in a quiet corner. "You think there's something to the illness?" I asked softly.

"Again, I can only speculate... but I am inclined to think that it's a bit more than a coincidence. The only apparent motive, of course, is the money. The real question we must answer is, how?"

He pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke thoughtfully again, his eyes unseeing. His quiet contemplation was interrupted, however, by a rather large man with a mane of bushy blonde hair and cold, black eyes, who walked in the door and made for our table. "You Mister Sherlock Holmes?" he asked angrily.

Holmes blinked and looked up at our visitor. "I am, sir, but I fear you have the advantage of me."

The man glowered. "Jed Giles is my name, sir, and I'll thank you to keep your nose out of my business!"

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware that it was your business I was investigating. Would you care to enlighten us as to how you are involved in this affair?"

"Now see here, Mr. Smarty. I've heard of you--always poking and prying where you're not wanted. Just you go back where you came from, or I'll see to it that you're sorry you didn't."

"It's a funny thing, Mr. Giles," said Holmes languidly. "I was just thinking that you might be rather sorry I didn't, too."

The large man turned bright red. "You trying to frighten me, sir? I'll have you know I am no chicken, and it's you that ought to be afraid!" He drew back a huge fist, making me leap to my feet, but in another moment he seemed to think better of it and lowered his hand. "I'll only tell you once, Mister Meddler. You're not wanted here." With that he stormed out.

"What an amiable person," said Holmes, as calm as ever. The stares we had attracted slowly turned away, though we could still feel the gazes of people's thoughts upon us for as long as we remained in the room. Holmes continued to smoke in silence for a while, then shook his head. "It's no good, Watson. We shall be needed on hand tonight, I fear. No sleep for us, but perhaps we will see a tragedy averted."

We made a quick stop at the police headquarters. Holmes went in alone, and came back looking rather disgruntled. "Worse than Gregson, Watson," he muttered to me, shooting a glare behind us. "Still, we shall have two police constables nearby... perhaps there will be no need for their assistance, but I fear that is unlikely."

The air was tinged with darkness by the time we left. We could see the house peeking out from above the trees, looking rather more sinister than it had first appeared to us. Holmes and I went around to the back of the house and pitched pebbles at Mr. Gadling's window until he stuck his head out. "What on earth's going on?"

"Let us in," replied Holmes, "without being seen."

In another minute we were inside. "You're lucky you came when you did," said Mr. Gadling, when we were all back in his room. "Everyone else is still in the sitting room, except for Beatrice, of course. What the deuce is the matter?"

"I have reason to believe that there is danger approaching. I will not tell you all yet, but I must ask that you do as I tell you. Your fiancee can be moved into your room for tonight, without the knowledge of anyone else, correct?"

"I--well, I suppose so, but--"

"Good. We will spend the night in her room. Now, you must not ask questions yet. All will be revealed to you quite soon."

We remained hidden in Gadling's room until the rest of the house had gone to bed. Mr. Gadling led Miss Palmer, who was good enough to do as we asked without question, into his own room. Holmes and I crept into hers. We made an arrangement of pillows that looked, in the dark, as though the bed was occupied, and sat on the floor to wait.

The night slunk slowly onwards. The darkness was smothering, enveloping myself and my companion in a cold, unforgiving blanket, relieved only by the occasional shaft of moonlight between the clouds. More than once some slight noise outside made me jump, and I could sense that Holmes too was rather on edge. It came almost as a relief to hear the creak of a floorboard as someone slipped out of bed and crept down the hallway.

We both stiffened at the noise, which was steadily drawing closer. Holmes gripped my wrist, and we both silently stood. The footsteps paused outside the door, and the knob slowly turned. A shadowy figure slipped in and bent over the bed. In an instant Holmes leapt from the corner and was upon the figure. I caught a glint of something silvery in the hand, which lashed out towards my friend, but he ducked away and blew upon a police whistle. I seized the wrist, which thrust towards me, but I managed to wrest the object from the hand and throw it onto the bed. I heard the striking of a match, and a moment later Holmes had lit a candle.

We both stared into the face of Rose Giles, who was pale as a sheet and shaking with anger. "Did she get you, Watson?" asked Holmes urgently.

"No, she missed. It's on the bed."

"Good man." Holmes picked up the syringe and held it to the candlelight. "Poison, I suppose, undetectable by modern methods. It never ceases to amaze me how low humanity can stoop--to be willing to murder a member of your own family for greed alone is most despicable. Well, Watson, I have made a fool of myself, I fear. I was fully expecting to encounter Mr. Giles tonight."

The door flew open again, and an older man in a blue dressing gown came rushing in, followed closely by Mr. Gadling and Beatrice Palmer. "What the devil's going on?" he demanded. "Rose? What on earth's been happening?"

The two police constables chose that moment to enter the scene. "Well, Mr. Holmes?" asked one. "Was there that murder attempt you were talking about?"

"There was," said Holmes, motioning to the woman I was still holding. "Mrs. Rose Giles, Beatrice Palmer's sister, guilty of attempted murder."

The constables gaped. "Mrs. Giles?"

"Her indeed. This syringe is, I have every reason to believe, filled with poison. That is where her husband comes in. Ah, here's the very man now!"

Mr. Giles had come up behind the party, his face a mask of fury. With a wordless roar he hurled himself at Holmes, only to be stopped by the uniformed men. "Come now, none of that, Mr. Giles," said Holmes, shaking his head. "May I suggest the derbies for these two, if you don't mind? I daresay it's warranted."

The officers handcuffed Mr. Giles readily, but hesitated for Rose Giles. "Yes, I know she's a woman," said Holmes irritably. "She also happens to be a cold-blooded murderer."

"Perhaps she was forced into it," said Mr. Palmer, who was looking very pale. "Perhaps her husband made her do it."

"Forced her?" cried Mr. Giles, "It was her idea!"

"Shut up, Jed!" the woman hissed.

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Interesting turn of events, is it not, Watson?" he murmered to me. "I believe what Mr. Giles says is the truth," he said to the assembled company. "Mr. Gadling, you were under the impression that Mrs. Giles lived in fear of her husband. We had all shared similar thoughts. However, that appears not to be the case after all. It really is rather obvious--no one else would have access to Miss Palmer as her sister. I really am most disappointed that I did not see it myself."

"But Mr. Holmes," said Gadling, "you haven't explained what is going on!"

"Ah. It is really a most elementary case, gentlemen. Very well, then. Mr. and Mrs. Giles wished to have the entirety of the inheritance, left to the sisters by their mother, for themselves. Beatrice Palmer was rather in the way in that respect. So Mr. Giles concocted a poison, to be used on Beatrice Palmer. I have reason to believe he tested it on a certain beggar, who was found dead near here. Satisfied that it worked, his wife proceeded to inject the poison into an apple in the fruit bowl on Miss Palmer's bedside table." He plucked a specimen of fruit from the bowl and held it up. "However, for whatever reason, that proved to be insufficient--perhaps Miss Palmer did not eat the entire apple, or there was not enough poison injected. In any case, she was not given nearly enough, instead succumbing to only a feeling of dizziness and drowsiness. Mrs. Giles was here tonight to finish the job. Now, if you would all accompany me to Mr. Giles' room, I believe we can solve another aspect of this affair."

Holmes lead the company down the hallway to Giles' room, and immediately flung wide the window. "Mr. Giles was using the abandoned attic as a laboratory," he announced. "Mr. Gadling observed a light coming from the doorway to the staircase, and heard a rather singular noise. I believe you described it as a shriek of pain, Mr. Gadling. I decided that it was possible that neither of you--" here he gestured to Beatrice Palmer and Mr. Palmer--"could have slept through a noise such as that, but Mr. and Mrs. Giles, being right next to the attic, would be less likely to do so. Consequently, they must have known the cause. Now, we have determined that the staircase is quite unusable. However, I believe that there is a way to reach the attic from the roof." With that, Holmes leaned out the window and, after scrabbling about with one hand for some moments, gave an exclaimation of satisfaction and levered himself out the window onto the roof. "There is a jutting corner on which it is possible to pull oneself up," his voice called from the roof. I investigated with my hands and found the purchace of which he spoke. With a little manouvering I found a foothold on the side of the building and pushed myself onto the slanted roof after Holmes. We walked carefully across to the outer wall of the attic, where a window allowed us access.

My first feeling was one of amazement. The room was dominated by a huge table, on which stood row upon row of chemical equipment. A shelf above the table held a number of glass jars and bottles. Holmes picked one up and read the label, letting out a low whistle. "He has gathered rather remarkable substances on his travels to Asia," he remarked, reading another. "Most of these are very rare, and many are poisonous. However, I believe the poison used was of his own making--it would have to be absolutely untracable." He turned away from the table and proceeded towards a shape covered in a large sheet, which he whipped off.

I stared. "Monkeys?"

"Presumably for him to test various chemicals on. Kept sedated, I see... probably only allowed to awaken at night. And some of them have been muted, you see?" He pointed to one with a careful slash below the throat. "Mr. Gadling's phantom screech must have come from one of these." He drew a sheet from another cage, and he raised an eyebrow. "Chickens, Watson. All dead. Presumably he used chickens for some sort of testing, kept under the blanket to keep them quiet, but his tests killed the birds."

"What a fowl business!"

"Indeed. And I have no doubt that if we excavated the spot which had been dug up recently we should find at least one monkey corpse." His brow furrowed suddenly, and he turned and glared at me. "Watson, did you just say "foul business" or "fowl business"?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, um, actually..."

"Watson, if you ever make such an abhorrent, disgusting pun ever again, I swear I shall throw you out of Baker Street and ship your belongings to deepest Africa."

"Sorry, Holmes."

We climbed back down the roof and through Mr. Giles' window, where we related to the assembled company what we had found in the attic room. One of the constables ascended to see for himself, and returned looking rather pale. The two escorted Mr. and Mrs. Giles out of the house, while Holmes and I remained to speak with Mr. Palmer and his daughter, and Mr. Gadling.

"I still cannot believe that Rose would kill," said Beatrice softly.

"She was caught with the syringe in her hand," said Mr. Gadling. "Jed's pet hobby was chemistry--apparently he was testing out various substances on chickens and monkeys. But tonight he and his wife were testing poison."

"And I am no chicken," said Beatrice softly.

Holmes lit another cigarette. "It was really a most elementary case," he said to me, blowing a wisp of smoke into the air. "But it was not without some points of interest. If anything, it certainly taught us to remember that the term "weaker sex" can be misleading. I suppose it is a lesson not to be taken in by appearances. Now, Watson, I believe there is a train leaving this morning. We can try to catch up on some of our sleep on the ride back to London."

So it was that the singular affair presented to us by Mr. Robert Gadling was concluded. Recently we recieved word that Mr. Gadling and Miss Palmer were married and are living happily with the young lady's father. Miss Palmer recieved her inheritance, and she and her husband have the means to live quite comfortably for years to come.

A/N: Well, that was weird... I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that I have artistic lisence... so even though some bits of this don't make any sort of sense, they're still allowed to be here. (even though some bits were really flimsy...) I'm afraid I made this one rather too obvious--of course the jerk has to be the guilty party!--but I hope my little twist was helpful in easing the predictability.
I was doing my best to write in a really ACD-esque mode for this prompt, with mixed results. Unfortunately, I realized about halfway through that he had already written The Speckled Band, and I would have to write a different story. And the chicken line really had nothing to do with it. But... you know... whatever. The only time I knowingly slipped from the canonical writing mode was for the foul/fowl pun--because I COULDN'T RESIST!! YOU KNOW YOU COULDN'T HAVE IF IT HAD BEEN YOU! So, in case anyone reads these long-winded author's notes, I know it was OOC, but it was too much fun to leave out XD
Apologies in advance to anyone who was confused by the editing-of-the-chapter thing, but I wanted to keep all prompt responses corresponding with the prompt numbers. Otherwise it probably would have driven me insane.
Again, many thanks to everyone who's reviewed! and extra special thanks to Pompey, for turning Holmes into a chicken. It had to be done XD